


May I Have This Dance?

by Rogue_Vulpes



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, White Heron Cup (Fire Emblem), dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28507188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogue_Vulpes/pseuds/Rogue_Vulpes
Summary: Enjoying a peaceful evening of fun, Byleth finds himself enthralled with a lone mercenary.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Shamir Nevrand
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	May I Have This Dance?

For perhaps the hundredth time that evening, Byleth was inexpressibly thankful he had been raised a commoner. Standing alone in the far corner of the spacious ballroom, arms folded across his chest, his gaze sweeping over the crowd of young men and women filling the bright space, the thought of attending this manner of event on a regular basis made his stomach churn. He knew the art of dance was a critical part of a young noble’s education, and as he watched Edelgard and Dimitri both expertly leading their respective partners across the floor, it was obvious that they felt quite at ease in this environment. At the very least, they were skilled enough in hiding their nervousness. Certainly, they seemed much more comfortable in their surroundings than Byleth did. It had taken him the better part of an hour to finally pry himself away from Claude’s sly insistence, leaving him with the feeling of slight embarrassment as he surveyed the scene, an emotion that , until recently, he hadn’t thought to possess.   
Further down the dancefloor, Dorothea had somehow enticed Ingrid into a sweeping waltz, while beside them, Ashe was focused intently on his efforts to avoid stepping on Marianne’s toes. Off to the sidelines, Lysithea and Mercedes sat with their heads together in quiet conversation, Sylvain was nursing a fresh bruise on his cheek as he withdrew from a red-faced Leonie, and Hilda and Annette were both struggling to hide their laughter at Petra’s unusual, albeit somewhat violent, Brigid style of dancing. Far across the floor, half hidden in shadow, Yuri and Constance shared a slow, formal waltz. Both still seemed somewhat reluctant to be included with the other houses.   
Byleth frowned as he watched the students pairing themselves off together. The music, the laughter, the cheery atmosphere, all of it did little to quiet his worried mind. Something had been nagging at him for some time, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The feeling of anxious claustrophobia that had been lingering for months seemed to grow with each passing minute, as though pressing in on him from all sides.  
“You really should relax, you know…” The snide, slightly teasing voice in Byleth’s head sounded irate. Byleth grimaced. In his mind’s eye, he saw the green-haired girl slumped lazily on her throne, her chin resting on her palm, looking bored.   
“It wouldn’t kill you to unwind for once,” she sighed. “You know any number of these students are just waiting for you to ask them to a dance.”  
“Are you finished?” Byleth muttered irritably under his breath.   
“If you aren’t going to dance, you might as well just go to bed,” Sothis pouted. “Why, if I had a real body-”   
“Professor!” Byleth jumped slightly at the familiar singsong voice and the iron grip that fastened like a vice around his upper arm. “Look at you, brooding all alone over here! Lucky that I found you before you got lost, hm?”  
“Good evening, Professor Manuela,” Byleth said, slightly taken aback. “You look well.”  
“Always so formal,” Manuela winked and gave his arm a slight tug. “Come now, won’t you share a dance with me?”   
“Er, no, thank you, professor,” Byleth gingerly pried himself free from her grasp, trying to ignore Sothis cackling her amusement in his head. “In fact, I was just thinking I’d go get some air, if you’ll excuse me…”   
“Don’t wander too far,” Manuela smirked. Byleth cleared his throat awkwardly, turning and starting off around the room. The walls were packed with students joking, laughing, and enjoying an evening away from their studies, and Byleth had to weave his way expertly through the mob to reach the side door. He squeezed past Raphael and Hapi, both keenly lurking over the refreshments table, and slipped deftly around Ignatz, who was quite pale in the face and looking as though he was trying to muster the courage to ask a dance from Flayn, standing by herself on the far side of the ballroom beneath Seteth’s watchful eye.   
Finally reaching the door, Byleth was greeted with a refreshing wave of cool night air as he pushed it open. Eager as he was to take a reprieve from the festivities, he paused for a moment, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. As he glanced furtively over his shoulder, Rhea caught his eye from her position on the raised dais across the ballroom, smiling that unfathomable smile of hers. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, as he always did when she looked at him like that, Byleth slipped outside into the chilly night, gently pushing the door closed behind him.  
Breathing a deep sigh of relief, Byleth stepped out onto the wide balcony that rounded the sides of the monastery. High above the ground level, it offered a breathtaking view of all Garreg Mach, shrouded in the moonlit night. Byleth rested his elbows on the ornately carved railing, a slight breeze ruffling his hair as he gazed down over the monastery grounds. The full moon overhead illuminated the shapes of the guards dotted along the walls, the familiar form of the gatekeeper, who appeared to be dozing slightly at his post, and the training yard, where a lone figure was swinging away at a practice dummy. Along the line of dormitories, all the windows were dark save one, which Byleth quickly recognized as belonging to the reclusive Bernadetta. He chuckled slightly to himself as he studied the buildings and grounds, which seemed to glitter slightly in the moonlight. Truly, it seemed he had grown to care for this place more than he had ever anticipated.   
“Too much drink, professor?” The smooth, familiar voice shook Byleth out of his reverie, and it was a moment before he could make out the shape of the speaker further along the balcony, leaning against the railing similarly to him with her chin resting on folded fingers. “Or too much company? You look like you’re about to puke over the edge there.”   
“Miss Nevrand,” Byleth was unable to hide his surprise at her stealth. “Apologies, I didn’t see you there.”  
“That’s the idea,” the young woman said pointedly. “And I told you before not to call me that.”   
“Sorry,” Byleth said quickly, caught off guard by her sudden appearance. Shamir didn’t respond, just kept gazing down over the moonlit grounds. After a moment’s hesitation, he crossed the distance between them and came to a stop beside her, resting against the rail and mimicking her posture.   
“What brings you up here? I thought you said knights don’t participate in the ball.”  
“I also said it piques the interest of some knights in particular,” she said. “I just needed some time to myself is all.” Byleth nodded, watching the woman carefully out of the corner of his eye. Her skin seemed paler than usual, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, as though she hadn’t had much sleep. Byleth frowned slightly. Although he had gotten to know her much better of the past few months, something about the knight still intrigued and mystified him. She had been a guest lecturer in his class several times, and they had fought on the battlefield together twice as often, but he still felt as though he hardly knew her.  
“You’re still here,” Shamir said after a while, her voice emotionless.   
“Just curious,” Byleth said. “Didn’t see you as one for festivities.”   
“Hence why I’m out here, instead of in there,” Shamir inclined her head toward the door, where the muted music could still be heard trailing through the thick wood.   
“Do you want to be alone?”  
“Little late for that, I suppose,” she sighed, picking a fleck of stone off the railing and flicking it off the edge into darkness. “Just don’t ask me to go in there and make a fool of myself.”   
“Fair enough.” Byleth fell silent, which seemed to suit Shamir just fine. The music and laughter from the ballroom had faded into background noise, along with the breeze rustling the trees and the calling of nighttime birds.   
“You not the dancing type?” Shamir asked, sounding almost bored. “Or did ol’ Captain Jeralt never teach you?”  
“I suppose I just feel a bit… out of place in all this,” Byleth frowned. “Feel like I can hardly breath in there.”  
“I understand,” Shamir nodded. She straightened up and turned, leaning her back against the railing with her elbows resting lazily on the stone. “I was never much for this kind of thing myself. Never liked being the center of attention.”  
“Really now?” Byleth shot her a curious look. “What was that Alois said at the White Heron? ‘The glamorous assassin who does all her dancing in the dead of night?’ Something along those lines?”   
To her credit, Shamir didn’t blush, just scowled slightly as she turned her head to face him. “I think I liked you better before you developed a sense of humor,” she grumbled, although she couldn’t hide the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth for the first time that evening.   
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” Byleth admitted. “Maybe this place agrees with me.”  
“Or they do,” Shamir nodded toward the stain-glass window, through which they could see the ballroom becoming more and more raucous. “They really love you, you know. Been here for a while now, and I’ve never seen a professor accepted by the students so quickly.”  
“I know,” Byleth admitted, chuckling slightly. Shamir raised a curious eyebrow as she scrutinized his face.   
Professor,” she said, a teasing note in her voice, “Is that a smile I saw just now?”   
“Hm?”  
“I’ve never seen you smile before. It’s nice.”   
“Well,” Byleth said sheepishly. “I could say the same for you.”   
“I’ll give you that one,” she laughed. He was somewhat taken aback by the sound, but he instantly loved it. It was clear and pure, like the ring of a church bell.   
“That’s just to say,” Shamir said, clearing her throat and pushing her hair back out of her face. “You’re doing a good job with those kids. Keep it up.”   
“Thanks,” Byleth nodded. The pair fell silent once again, watching the blurred shapes darting about through the elaborately swirled patterns of the windows. Byleth was somewhat surprised by how peaceful his thoughts suddenly were; Sothis had grown uncharacteristically quiet.   
“I should get back on patrol,” Shamir finally said, standing up straight and nodding toward where her bow and quiver rested against the far wall. “And you should get back to your students. It was good talking with you, professor.”  
“Shamir,” Byleth said, seized by a sudden inclination as he straightened as well. “Before you go…”  
“Yes?”   
“I just though… Er, I… that is to say…” Byleth cleared his throat nervously, trying to ignore Sothis snickering at him from within his subconscious. “I wonder if you would…” His voice died in his throat as Shamir considered him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, looking somewhat alarmed.   
“Are you alright, professor?” she asked apprehensively. Byleth sighed in defeat.   
“Shamir… Would you like to dance with me?”  
“Come again?” Shamir’s cocked eyebrow looked to be in danger of vanishing into her hairline as she considered him with a mixture of surprise and mild amusement.  
“I mean, would you…” Byleth frowned, struggling desperately to find the right words, when Sothis’s familiar singsong voice suddenly spoke up in his head.  
“Still such a child… The words you’re looking for are ‘May I have this dance?’.”  
“May I have this dance?” Byleth repeated nervously, extending his hand toward her, palm up. Shamir looked absolutely befuddled.   
“Is this a joke?” she asked, stepping a little closer. “Some sick prank?”  
“Er, no...?” Byleth hesitated. To his great surprised, Shamir just laughed.  
“The famed Ashen Demon reduced to a blubbering schoolboy,” she mused. “Now I’ve seen it all.” She took another step toward him, seemingly bracing herself for something to cut the tension of the moment. After a long moment of consideration, she lifted her arm and placed her hand in his, a sheepish smile on her face.  
“I’m not much of a dancer.”   
“Neither am I,” Byleth admitted breathlessly. Shamir smirked slightly as her slim fingers wrapped around his, her other hand coming to rest on his shoulder. Byleth put an arm around her slender waist and pulled her closer to his chest, and the two began to work their way slowly and rhythmically across the balcony. The faint music drifting out of the ballroom was enough to guide their movements, and Byleth was surprised to find himself feeling quite at ease. Shamir’s violet eyes never left his, holding puzzlement, amusement, and perhaps the tiniest traces of something else entirely. Her familiar smirk returned as she leaned closer and put her lips to his ear.  
“If you ever tell anyone about this,” she murmured. “I’ll slit your throat in your sleep.”   
Byleth chuckled. In the soft glow of the moonlight, he could detect the faintest bit of blush coloring Shamir’s cheeks. He wasn’t sure if Shamir was just humoring his clunky proposal, or if she genuinely accepted it, but it was strange to see her like this. Normally she was strong and lethal, but now she just seemed almost vulnerable, as if finally lowering her guard to show her true personality.  
“Your secret is safe with me.”   
“Suppose us mercs have to stick together…”  
Silence fell over them like a fog as they slowly wove their way across their own private dance floor. Neither seemed to be leading the other, instead moving as one in a single harmony, high above the darkened grounds. For the first time in an exceptionally long time, Byleth felt quite content. He wasn’t thinking about future battles, lesson plans, or the ghost of a lost girl trapped within his subconscious. His thoughts dwelled only on the woman in his arms, piercing eyes and midnight hair seeming to glow in the moonlight.   
As the indistinct music began to fade, the instruments signaling the end of the song, the pair slowly came to a stop, in almost the precise spot where they had begun. To Byleth’s surprise, Shamir didn’t withdraw from him. Instead, she released her firm, yet gentle grip on his hand and placed her palm flat against his chest.   
“No heartbeat…” she murmured, half to herself.   
“None,” he responded quietly, his tone somber.  
“Hm…” Shamir raised her eyes to his downturned face, using a single finger to lift his chin up to meet her gaze. The look in her eyes was guarded, inquisitively searching his irises for an understanding that Byleth was unable to give her. One arm still wrapped securely around her hips, he lifted a hand almost curiously to brush the fringe of silky hair out of her face, marveling at her pale skin and the sharp definition of her nose and cheekbones. It suddenly occurred to him just how close she was to him. While Byleth had none for himself, he was acutely aware of Shamir’s heartbeat beating faintly in her breast. He could feel her warm breath on his face, smelling sweetly of the chamomile tea she was so fond of. Her dark eyes were nearly closed, eyelids fluttering slightly as she drew closer to him, her breath coming quicker as the fullness of her lips brushed gently against his...  
“Oi, Shamir! You out here?” The loud, commanding voice brought them both back to reality with painful lurch. Shamir pulled herself free from Byleth’s hold faster than the snap of a taut bowstring, causing him to stumble slightly. He grabbed the railing to steady himself as a familiar silhouette emerged from the ballroom door, hands on her hips. “Oh, professor, good evening to ya.”   
“Good evening, Catherine,” Byleth said, admittedly somewhat shakily.   
“Sorry if I’m interrupting something,” the knight cast a curious look at the pair of them. “Just looking for my partner is all, it’s time we made our rounds again.” Byleth nodded, thankful that the darkened night served to hide the color rising in his face.  
“It’s fine,” Shamir said briskly, crossing the stone floor with quick strides to retrieve her bow and quiver. “The professor and I were just discussing his upcoming lecture. I’m right behind you.” The archer brushed past Byleth without looking at him, occupying herself with belting the quiver around her slender waist. As she made to follow Catherine into the ballroom, she stopped and turned to face him, one hand resting on the door frame, the tiniest hint of a smile on her face.   
“Until next time, professor.”  
“Ah, er, yes,” Byleth said clumsily, inclining his head slightly toward her. “Until next time, Miss Nevrand.” Shamir simply nodded, slung her bow lazily over her shoulder, and vanished inside, closing the door softly behind her. Byleth let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, leaning back against the railing and suddenly feeling very drained.   
“Well now, that was certainly fun to watch. Maybe you’re not quite as hopeless as I originally thought, hm?”  
Byleth snorted irritably, quickly deciding that he had experienced enough of the ball for one night. The teasing voice in his head only grew more amused at this, seemingly fighting to hide her laughter.   
“Leaving so soon? There may yet be other raven-haired mistresses hiding in the shadows, just waiting for you to so expertly court them.”  
“Shut up...” Byleth grumbled. This comment only served to add to her amusement, her diminutive form rocking back and forth in her oversized throne with the effort of repressing laughter, and leaving Byleth to wonder if throwing himself headfirst off that parapet would result in sufficient mental trauma to rid himself of the green-haired gremlin.   
“So sorry, professor,” Sothis giggled, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. “You’re stuck with me. And while we have a moment to ourselves, I’m going to teach you a thing or two about the proper way to court a lady. Your days as a sullen mercenary end tonight!”  
Byleth groaned.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is greatly appreciated!


End file.
